


i seek another place

by heygorgeous



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, Bipolar Disorder, Character Study, Depression, Eating Disorders, M/M, Self-Denial, Suicidal Thoughts, but really there's no good way to compete when it comes to mental illnesses, headcanon masquerading as, how has viktor nikiforov survived till now is beyond him, that's really it i think, yuuri has
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 08:17:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9595856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heygorgeous/pseuds/heygorgeous
Summary: Somewhere along the line he stops providing excuses, and the world stops asking him.So now, Viktor thinks - thumb carelessly rubbing against Yuuri's scalp, now what?[viktor suffers from bipolar disorder]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> edit: I put bpd thinking it was the abbreviation for bipolar disorder, but that's corrected now

He didn't think he'd get this far. Really, the thought - it's a nice thing. Thing is, it's just a thought, and  _now_ , faced with the consequences of a particularly emotional rollercoaster season, Viktor doesn't quite know how happy he's supposed to be.

It's a happy ending, it  _is_  - Yuuri's curled up against him, Makkachin slotted somewhere at the end of the bed. They're in St Petersburg, tucked safely under the covers and fifteen comfortable minutes away till the alarm rings. Really, this - he thinks of how soft Yuuri's hair will be, right in front of him - this is so much more than he could ever ask for. It's perfectly domestic, achingly peaceful. Viktor breathes out, and wills his hand to reach out towards Yuuri's mop of jetblack hair. 

He's good. It's good. There's nothing but the soft, gentle quiet of his apartment and Makkachin's equally-moderate snores in the background. The apartment is toasty, is fuller than before, is snug with the new addition of this Japanese boy and his meticulously packed suitcase. 

(And the new couches he got from IKEA. And the synthetic-fur carpet. And the vanity, meant for Yuuri, shipped in from Switzerland, and-)

Viktor watches his fingers card through Yuuri's hair - simple, deliberate - and wonders how it feels like he's moving before actually thinking it. He stares at his pinky, and feels it jerk awkwardly before registering the movement in his mind. Strange. But that's the way he's been, for a long time now; feeling the inexplicable push and pull of his body in and out of places, spaces, before trying to explain it. Somewhere along the line he stops providing excuses, and the world stops asking him. 

 _So now,_  Viktor thinks - thumb carelessly rubbing against Yuuri's scalp,  _now what?_

He stills. There's a faint moan from Yuuri, before he turns over, and pulls Viktor's straying hand towards his lips. And then, casually, Yuuri presses light kisses against his fingers, mouth ghosting across Viktor's knuckles before sliding into an easy, unguarded smile. 

"Vitya," Yuuri whispers, and intertwines their fingers.

Viktor smiles back just as quickly, just as recklessly, and says mildly, "Good morning, my sleeping beauty."

(The words feel balmy in his throat. His tongue feels thick and heavy with sleep.)

Yuuri blushes - a full body flush disappearing under the collars of Viktor's shirt - and sighs happily into Viktor's palm. "You're up early."

It shouldn't be so easy, really. Everything, from jumping on a plane to sobbing (half-heartedly, perhaps, he can’t quite remember how it felt) in a hotel in Barcelona, feels so effortless. Over. Viktor traces the contours of Yuuri's cheeks and wanders up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. It's cliched, but the act soothes Viktor - he's not the first in this attempt at normalcy - and earns him an endearing look from Yuuri. And then, restlessly, he inches forward to place a badly-aimed kiss on Yuuri's forehead. 

Yuuri laughs. "Vitya."

So Viktor places more badly-aimed kisses on Yuuri's face instead, both hands against Yuuri's cheeks and holding him in place. "Yuuuri. Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri."

He really wants to rinse the taste out of his tongue.

 

* * *

 

 

Sleep doesn't come naturally to him. 

It’s not like it’s a bad habit, really – the moment where night morphs into day is so brief that it’s hardly anyone’s fault if they don’t realise that _perhaps, they should have been sleeping eight hours ago_. Time is a concept too abstract for Viktor’s indifferent mind – it’s too hard to have to care about so many things. He’ll settle for checking in with Yuuri every ten minutes if he has to.

So really, it’s no surprise when Phichit talks of Yuuri’s coffee and energy drink combination during their precious university days, and Viktor laughs, confused:

“Why? Water works just as well.”

And that’s how Viktor came to be educated of the normal – mandated, actually - Sleep Cycle. Something about a healthy eight hours for the everyday man.

That’s not to say that Viktor doesn’t sleep – there are days, weeks, where he’s just so lazy and his head hurts, and there’s a dullness in his limbs that make him want to stay in bed; it’s how he gets into trouble with Yakov in the past, but it’s also what keeps him out of the rink anyway. Nobody wants a half-assed spin from a world-class skater, much less an obtusely oblivious Viktor Nikiforov standing smack in the middle of the rink, eyes boring into whatever’s before him.

 

* * *

 

 

In this case, it’s the television. There’s something about a Russian soap, filmed theatre, playing, but so far all he can remember is the way Russian sounds kind of weird – is it even Russian – and far away. Makkachin whines beside him, and Viktor pays her the customary pat.

“Did you forget, Viktor,” Yuuri says, and Viktor has to force himself to sit up and jerk his head towards the doorway.

“Sorry?”

“I said,” Yuuri says, an exasperated face buried under layers of scarves, “did you forget about Yurio’s birthday.”

“Oh,” Viktor says.

“You did,” Yuuri says, more to himself. “I told you to get the cake, didn’t I?”

He probably did.

“Viktor?”

“Ah. I’ll go get it then.”

Viktor lets a 2012 Rostelecom Cup smile loose on his face, and pushes himself up from the couch in a single, fluid motion. And then. Nothing. The television is still playing, and Makkachin’s still wagging her tail against the couch. He should, um,

“It’s fine,” Yuuri waves him down, and places a plastic carrier on the counter. “I got it already.”

Yuuri unbuttons his coat and hangs it on the hook, before following his usual route of stopping by their bedroom to strip off his scarf and beanie. Viktor stands, still, and lets the empty white noise filter through his head, rolling from one temple to the other.

 _The bag,_ he thinks, searching for a focus. _White._

He doesn’t get much further than that.

 

* * *

 

 

When Yuuri emerges from the bedroom, Viktor’s still standing there, a silent figure against the shrill cacophony from the speakers.

 

* * *

 

 

They go out to a pub with Chris and his mystery man. Yuuri’s the only one left completely sober, sticking to whatever unalcoholic variant the pub has to offer - he was adamant in refusing the champagne Viktor tried showering him with.

Somehow the conversation dips from casual innuendoes to death. Viktor doesn’t know what’s brought this on, really, but he’s no stranger to the topic; he’s talked about this with Chris mindlessly, jokingly – like, _“I wish I could just die right now.”_ and _“Maybe not drowning. It bloats you.”_ or things like that. But with Yuuri around -?

“But, listen, _death by intercourse_ ,” Chris (of course it’ll be Chris) says, and raises his eyebrows. “Literally getting fucked over.”

Viktor laughs harder than he should. It’s probably the alcohol. “Autoerotic asphyxiation. Don’t you think, Mystery man?”

Chris’s boyfriend sighs. “You’re both so drunk.”

“I’d like to die by your hands,” Chris says, swooning into his partner’s lap. “So romantic.”

Viktor chuckles. “That’s one charge of murder, Chris. What if you don’t manage to kill each other by sex?”

Chris seems to take it seriously. “Then… it’ll be a double suicide. How about it, mutual masturbation till the end?”

Yuuri chokes.

“But you’ll be found naked,” Viktor argues.

Chris shrugs. “I don’t know. Other ways of dying are _boring_.”

“Death is uninventive,” Viktor nods. “Suicide options are so limited.”

Chris yawns, “What do you think, Yuuri?”

Yuuri’s beside Viktor, so if he wants to see what Yuuri has to say, he’ll have to crane his neck and actually look. “Uh- me?”

“Yeah, you’ve been quiet the whole time.”

Yuuri stays silent for a longer period of time. Viktor hears him take a swig of his juice, and tilts his head slightly, catching the blurry, uncertain profile of his Yuuri. Viktor’s ready to switch the topic to something lighter, hand slipping under the table to catch Yuuri’s, when

“I think people who commit suicide are selfish.”

Viktor retracts his hand, and dumps his entire body onto Yuuri instead. “Yuuuri. You’re being so serious.”

“I am,” Yuuri says, wilfully ignorant. “It’s stupid, isn’t it? You won’t solve anything-”

Chris whistles, and Viktor catches his knowing, mocking look.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Perhaps the best thing is how easily Yuuri falls asleep after an episode. Because, while Yuuri is able to fret it all out, while Yuuri is able to wreck himself ten times over, tear sobs from his throat and waste his anxiety away, Viktor’s not even sure if he can cry.

But he loves Yuuri, really, and so he combs through Yuuri’s hair and stays right beside him, watching, waiting, wondering just how much longer this will go on.

 _Yuuri’s got stamina,_ Viktor thinks wryly. _I would have given up before even starting._

 

* * *

 

 

Viktor’s never actually tried to kill himself. Sure, he thinks of it, but probably in healthy doses – and he expresses it, like everyone else does when they’re “fucked over”. Maybe not Yurio, actually. The kid expresses his desire to obliterate every living organism in his path whenever he comes across Viktor and Yuuri within five metres of each other. But other than that, Viktor’s pretty okay. Functional. Spiffy. Absolutely swell.

Even if he mulls over the best possible way to commit suicide, he’s not actually going to do it; not even things like sticking a penknife up his arm sound remotely plausible – what if all this is just some prolonged phase sticking around from, who knows, puberty or something, and that maybe one day he’ll wake up realising that he’s perfectly satisfied and fulfilled? For god’s sake, Yuuri’s got prescription for his anxiety, and Viktor- Viktor has at least five gold medals.

And he knows that everyone else thinks he’s fine too – people like it when he smiles, it’s an easier alternative to contemplate or catalogue than if he were to _not-smile_. And besides that, he’s got a frivolous collection of Gucci shades and pink cars. It’s careless, it’s charming, it’s comforting; sad people don’t splurge on branded goods every Saturday. Sad people don’t post pictures of themselves surrounded by luxuries on Instagram in sets of threes.

_CHRIS G_

(2200) I can’t believe u got the car

(2201) pink, really

(2201) oh! but, Yuuri was sitting in your lap, wasn’t he?

(2201) you’ve been naughty, V

 

_YOU_

(2202) ;)

(2202) Anyway, Chris, weren’t you the one who suggested it

 

_CHRIS G_

(2203) sure, sure

(2203) so how’s the missus?

(2203) not you.

(2203) though I wouldn’t go so far to assume…

 

_YOU_

(2204) Yuuri?

(2204) he’s amazing ;)

 

_CHRIS G_

(2204) spill.

(2205) I’m dying to know here

 

_YOU_

(2205) really

(2206) autoerotic asphyxiation or oven

 

_CHRIS G_

(2206) kinky ;)

(2207) does he know yet?

 

_YOU_

(2207) know what?

 

_CHRIS G_

(2208) don’t act stupid.

 

_YOU_

(2208) act stupid?

(2208) suicide _is_ stupid, isn’’t it

 

_CHRIS G_

(2209) Viktor.

(2209) Are you alright?

(2212) I’m calling.

 

_YOU_

(2212) I’m fine. Honestly.

(2212) I’m not that stupid.

 

_CHRIS G_

(2213) I wouldn’t assume that.

(2214) you’re pretty selfish, you know.

 

_YOU_

(2216) ;))

 

* * *

 

 

Things start picking up by the next month. Somehow, things melt away into each other, and Viktor finds himself genuinely blissed out – everything becomes a possible line of movement for Yuuri’s programme, a step sequence or a costume idea shelved away and lost almost immediately when the next one comes right along. Viktor busies himself with notes and sketches and never needs coffee.

Yuuri is worried, of course, and sits with him through the nights. Yuuri’s no stranger to sleepless nights brought on by worry, but to see Viktor actually grinning, beaming like he’s not been awake for at least two days straight? It’s definitely something.

“Vitya,” Yuuri mumbles into Viktor’s shoulder, voice masked by sleepiness. “Aren’t you sleeping?”

“Soon, love, soon,” Viktor replies.

“Viktor… are you okay?”

Viktor glances back at Yuuri, seeing only a silver of his face under the dim lighting. “Never better, love.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

The first few days back into training are brutal. It’s not really about the skating (though it is), more about the fact that he’s sharing a rink with people who have been competitively training for the past season (where he’s not):The Russian team takes a liking to Yuuri – shy, sweet Yuuri and his wide, fawn-like eyes – a little too fast, perhaps.

Even Yakov is positively shell-shocked by Yuuri’s pliant, determined, hardworking personality, and almost yells at him for not talking back; Lilia narrows her eyes at the mention of “Okukawa Minako”, and levels an even, though intimidating stare while Yuuri practices at her studio.

 (Yes, she’s _harsher_ on Yuuri than she is on Yurio, but at least there’s that – towards Viktor, she’s only ever smiled.)

Somehow Viktor finds himself in the middle of conversations he never knew were interested in him. But the topic very cleverly revolves around Katsuki Yuuri, and Viktor feels entitled to act like he’s in his element. And whenever Yuuri’s around, he twists his golden ring, abashed and horrified that people want to hear what he thinks. People want to watch him skate – people can’t help but gawk even as he does his figure eights or cools down by repeating Viktor’s past performances. He trades quad flips for step sequences, carefully implants triple axels where indulgent salchows would have existed, and transforms an impressive routine into a heart-gutting expression.

Viktor kisses him, and jokes that it’s the biggest diss as a competitor he’ll ever receive.

“And he’s not even worth it,” Yurio shouts back, typing wildly on his phone.

But Viktor’s not complaining, not really – it’s a pleasure (an honour, actually) to be able to watch Yuuri dance on ice. He’s raw with grace, emotive and vulnerable and firm all at the same time. It’s enough to make a man swoon. Which is what Viktor does – he abandons most of his jumps to video Yuuri’s step sequences instead. Yurio slaps him on the head and threatens to kick him with his skates (“Knife shoes!”) if he keeps distracting the others from practice.

Yakov sighs, and bars him from entering the rink while Yuuri’s training. Viktor makes a protest out of it half-heartedly, before yielding to Yakov’s orders.  Georgi gives him a strange look when Viktor gets off the rink grumpily.

 

* * *

 

 

Later in the night, Viktor gushes to Yuuri about how beautifully he performed Viktor’s routines. He retraces his Youtube history – not a tedious task at all, to be fair – and pulls out the video of Yuuri skating to _Stammi Vicino_.

A shy “I got bored, I guess.” and a matching gaze from under thick long lashes are Yuuri’s only explanations.

(And Viktor wants to kiss him so, so hard he forgets to breathe.)

 

* * *

 

 

_YOU_

(0951) 12pm and 6pm.

(0951) Lilia on Saturdays?

 

_YAKOV FELTSMAN_

(0952) Vitya.

 

_YOU_

(0952) I need it.

(0953) Russian Nationals will come.

 

_YAKOV FELTSMAN_

(0954) You will eat.

(0955) Don’t lie to me.

 

_YOU_

(0955) Since when have I ever lied to you ;)

 

_YAKOV FELTSMAN_

(1000) You are not 16.

 

_YOU_

(draft – 1000) Pity.

(1006) I can _feel_ 16\. ;)

 

* * *

 

 

The best part about living with Yuuri is precisely how easy it is to want to just be with him. Japan’s ace skater, with all his luscious growing locks and fluttery eyelashes, has a dangerously addictive vibe that demands, commands company. Viktor can’t help but settle into the familiar spot beside Yuuri during their morning clean-ups, where the static in his head can sit comfortably under the guise of sleep-induced drowsiness.

The hardest part is also just that – staying beside Yuuri like some complementary jigsaw set means that the things they do, they inevitably do together. Eating? Check – Viktor knows how to sweet talk the takeout boy into giving him half the serving portion. Sleeping? Check – Makkachin makes a good decoy anyway. Skating? Checkmate – because who would expect anything less from Russia’s hero?

Why would Yuuri deserve anything less than Russia’s very own ace skater? Why would Yuuri want anything less than Viktor Nikiforov?

So he pulls out a stack of his old school fieldtrip forms and pretends they’re from the dietician. Barely a day later, Yakov approaches him to ask about this fabled dietician that Yuuri’s inquired about, and Yurio fakes a proper letter for him by noon. The whole thing dies down as soon as it starts – Yuuri is glad to know his recommended meal plan isn’t as dire as Viktor’s, but neglects mentioning it for all of his sensitivities. Thank god.

 

* * *

 

 

The sex is _good_. The skating, great. But the aftercare is even better; Yuuri lovingly rubs a hard-boiled egg against Viktor’s bruises, shaving down his legs for dog-patterned athletic tapes and Makkachin-endorsed plasters. It’s funny seeing his feet all wrapped up like that – the last time he bothered, he’d torn them all off within the next few days, hands itching to peel away at goosebumps, nails aching to chip away at the frazzled heat of his soles.

But Yuuri is gentle. Yuuri is careful and meticulous. Yuuri likes patching things up, likes to see dogs instead of bruises – likes to shower Viktor in the love he’s missed out on. And Viktor knows. He knows he’s lucky, sees that he’s so obviously _loved_ – who wouldn’t die for this bag of adorable, bundled nerves – he just wishes he could feel like it.

 

* * *

 

 

Viktor is well acquainted with hunger. It’s a burning, embarrassing reminder of your own morality. Growls and rears its ugly, uncontrollable head when it can, too. Especially in the middle of a lecture, or during a movie. But hunger is manageable – hunger, with all its bark, is literally and figuratively no bite. You can always wait it out; the distinct simmer of bile or gastric is easily washed down by water. The body is easy to trick.

The mind, not so much.

 _Boredom_ is a much deadlier, albeit more passive, enabler; Viktor idly wonders if he’ll bleed, if it’ll hurt if he stabs the blades into his own chest. Or if he could press hard enough with his bare hands and nail the damn thing. Maybe if he could, he’d carve what feels like his heart out and dump it somewhere. But he’ll probably die in the process.

 _It’s not_ , Viktor thinks, pouting, _a spectacular way to die._

After all, once you get past the novelty of the skates and his reputation, it’s just a simple case of self-induced death by a sharp object.

“Viktor!” Yakov yells from the sides of the rink. “Don’t tell me you’re hungry _now_.”

Viktor laughs, and continues his rounds, far less distractions in his way.

Far less anything in his way, really.

 

* * *

 

 

He runs into Georgi in the Galeria. They’re not exactly close – Georgi’s made his healthy animosity clear from the very beginning – but Viktor ends up following him into some makeup retail store. They’re picking at palettes and examining various shades of eyeshadow; Georgi picks out a rather neutral palette, surprisingly, and suggests to Viktor that he try a glitter lip for his next performance. And then.

“Colour correctors. Concealer,” Georgi says, before Viktor can head for the cashier.

“Right,” Viktor says. “I forgot.”

Georgi sighs. “You’re never changing, are you?”

“Shiseido’s a good brand,” Viktor counters, and picks out his own shade.

“Laura Mercier’s cruelty free,” Georgi says. “But that’s not what I mean.”

“Shiseido owns NARS.”

“Point taken. Go visit a pharmacist. Get some iron supplements or something,” Georgi says, at last. “You’ve already wasted six years.”

Viktor nods, and picks out a green-pigmented concealer. “What’s another six more?”

Georgi shakes his head. “Yellow, not green. You’re not sixteen anymore.”

Viktor stills, turning the product over in his hands. He tries reading the words, but nothing latches onto the careless careening of his consciousness. Georgi turns to examine the blushes, combing through shelves of compact cases with a practiced hand.

“You’re right. I have a lot more to lose now,” Viktor says slowly, without much conviction. “Or maybe a lot less to lose.”

He realises there’s not much of a distinction, if the alternative to losing isn’t simply - winning. It’s going to be an endless series of “now what”s and realising that there aren’t always enough answers to keep going.

“You idiot,” Georgi says affectionately. “Green is for covering up red spots. Get that yellow one.”

 

* * *

 

 

_GEORGI POPOVICH_

(2342) Hello. I hate to disturb you, but just in case you did not heed my advice to visit the pharmacist, here’s an online delivery option; if Yakov compares your face to a sagging prune again, I will redirect the link to Yuuri.

(2343) P.S. Sex works wonders for the face.

 

_YOU_

(2343) tgghen               dony  ddistur              b

 

_GEORGI POPOVICH_

(2343) Oh.

 

_YOU_

(1213) What do you mean “again”?

(1213) “Sagging prune”????

(1214) Also, addendum. *my husband.

 

* * *

 

 

_YOU_

(1214) “Sagging prune” ????

 

_YAKOV FELTSMAN_

(1216) Don’t use your phone during training.

 

_YOU_

(1216) Pot.

(1216) Kettle.

(1220) Georgi gives good advice ;)

 

From across the rink, Yakov hollers, “NO SEX UNTIL AFTER NATIONALS.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Jean-Jacques Leroy Unleashes Yet Another Quad?**

_1 Dec 2016_

JEAN-Jacques Leroy, bronze medallist from the Grand Prix Final 2016, had until recently, been keeping a low profile. After his stroke of misfortune at the GPF, he conducted an interview expressing his gratitude and promising to work even harder for the upcoming season. Following that, fans were miserable to find that their “King JJ” had embarked on a total social media blackout, claiming it was an attempt to relocate his inner motivations as well as take a break from the expectations unloaded upon him for the moment.

However, Leroy made a stunning cameo in his fiance’s Instagram videos. Captioned “A peek at the new king!”, the videos show a shaky recording of Leroy at an empty ice rink performing jumps.

Though the quality of the footage is unclear, a series of screenshots analysis by Tumblr user JJisourking has a majority of fans agreeing that the number of rotations was certainly enough to qualify for a quadruple jump. The only question is, _which_?

With at least three known quadruple jumps under his belt (Toe Loop, Salchow and Lutz), some have argued that Leroy could not have, and would not necessarily need to master yet another form of quadruple jump for the moment. However, others disagree, staking their claims on Isabelle Yang’s caption – “the _new_ king” – and their faith in the rising generation of new skaters to challenge the sport.

Will it be a new quadruple jump? Or is this merely an innocent gesture of affection? We’ll have to wait till the next assignments to find out!

_Comments (152)_

_

**Russia’s Hero: Replaced?**

2 Dec 2016

While this is certainly old news to some of us, Viktor Nikiforov’s dramatic return to the arena has come under scrutiny once more – undoubtedly due to Mila Babicheva’s latest Instagram post.

A seemingly innocent group selfie in the mirror shows Japan’s ace, Katsuki Yuuri, Russia’s Fairy, Yuri Plisetsky, Mila herself and soon-retiring Georgi Popovich posing together. Even Coach Yakov Feltsman can be glimpsed in the background yelling on the phone.

But this simply begs the question: where on earth is Viktor Nikiforov? In the comments section, apparently.

“ _@v-nikiforov: @katsukiyuuri looks amazing!_

_@mila-baba: @v-nikiforov oi_

_@v-nikiforov: @mila-baba you too, Mila ;)”_

Sources have stated that Viktor is currently running on a separate training schedule, given the fact that he took a season off, and that he is timing his return for the Russian Nationals later this December.  Some have spotted Viktor and Georgi shopping in the Galeria, with Twitter user @xxydd snapping a well-timed photo of Georgi walking away from Viktor.

Captioned “omfg viktor n is here fccc popo too??? shit siht is going DOWN”, we can only hazard a guess at the scandal taking place in the concealer aisle. Still, it does not bode well for the two, given their “friendly rivalry” and discourse on Twitter previously.

One can only wonder, if Viktor’s longest teammate is walking away from him, how will the rest of the Russian team accept their fallen hero’s return?

_Comments (344)_

_

[image]

_4295 likes_

_@chris.g_ Flower Boi Ready for Russian Nationals o3o <333

_33 comments_

_@v-nikiforov_ How touching, Chris ;)

 _@heppoking @v-nikiforov @chris.g_ omg I love you guys please reply me it would make me so so happy!!!!!

 _@yurisangelsxx @beignblacksheep_  Yuri’s gonna win anyway, but that’s the natural progression of things. You see, a winning streak of five years is legen[…]

_3 minutes ago_

_

[image]

_10093 likes_

_@v-nikiforov  @katsukiyuuri_ <3

_544 comments_

_@yuuuuuuurily_  OMGGGGGGGGGGG YUURI IS SO CUTE ???????  PROTECT AT ALL COSTS

 _@kpopjaz_ #goals

 _@yurikatsfanclub_ _@katsukiyuuri_ We love you, Yuuri!!!! All the best for nationals!

_32 minutes ago_

[image]

_600 likes_

_@icebois_n_gurls_ who wore it better? Yuri P or Viktor Nikiforov? … _see more_

_114 comments_

_@marrrll_ Viktor???? is this even a question

 _@brookennn @nikiforovbois_ yurio for sure! look at his hair, plus agape??? marry me pls /hearteyes??? but honestly if you’re looking at […]

 _@caroleanonme @oshitdatboi_ my face is refreshed, my crops are watered, ,,,

 _@grissche @minamina.l_ dude viktor’s out of the game alr _…_ i think yuri has a good chance of streaking lmao biggest question is why Russia breeds so many good ath[…]

 

* * *

 

 

Viktor does three quad flips in rapid succession, and feels like hell.  But at least Yakov’s not here to scold him; no one is.

“Kill me,” Viktor says, laughing at his limits.

He’s old and inflexible and not as useful as he should perhaps be, but he made a promise, and on that he will deliver. Not so much because of the obligation itself, but rather because Viktor Nikiforov is a Name and a brand sporting hair so repulsively attention-seeking that pride is only second nature to him.

Viktor looks up, holding his breath because it is undignified to pant, even if no one’s watching, and because it is a habit from well-worn years; weakness is only potent if it is acknowledged. And somewhere in the benches there’s Yuuri, staring straight at him with a box on his lap. Viktor stands a little straighter, takes the extra time to push his fringe out of the way.

“Yuuri!” Viktor calls, waving. He skates over to his husband. “What brings you here?”

And Yuuri smiles invitingly, “I wanted to have lunch with you.”

It’s a bento box, a thoughtful delivery he reworks into his calculations. Oh. Viktor doesn’t need to force a grin on his face. It really is sweet, actually, even if it is equally stinging on his part. “That’s lovely, Yuuri! Thank you, my dear.”

He will eat it. He will finish it. And then maybe he will feel guilt.

“After I’m done with practice?” He offers. “If you’re hungry you can start first.”

Yuuri nods, relieved. And with that, Viktor returns to skating, fumbling with the hollow sinewy flow of his limbs in a desperate attempt to deliver something, anything. Because someone is watching, and Viktor has been trained to show.

Briefly he wonders if someone as intuitive as Katsuki Yuuri could have been fooled by his professional techniques and amateurish intents. If he will one day look at Viktor and _realise_ that this Russian doll, stripped bare and picked apart, houses absolutely nothing to show.

 _It will be worse_ , Viktor realises, _if he searches and pours his soul into me._

Viktor settles for more jumps, and barely scrapes by a quad axel. Too bad about the double-footed landing.

 

* * *

 

 

“So how are you?” Yuuri says, unpacking their lunch slowly. “It’s been a while.”

“I’ve missed you a lot! Yakov is so mean to me though - he keeps forbidding me from doing quads, and threatens to take Makkachin away if I don’t come up with a programme on time. Sleep is impossible now,” Viktor whines. “God, this is worse than death.”

“Don’t say that,” Yuuri says, without missing a beat.

“Huh?” Viktor looks up. “Oh. Dying?”

Yuuri doesn’t flinch. “Yes.”

Viktor picks apart the sunny side-up, and chews thoughtfully. “I’m sorry.”

Yuuri shakes his head. “That’s not. I. _Vitya.”_

Yuuri puts his own lunch to the side. After a moment, Viktor copies him. As Yuuri struggles to come to terms with his own thoughts, gears turning in his head, translating between individual ideas and Japanese and English and back all over, Viktor lets his hand fall in his lap. His head is light and heavy all the same, dipped back and pulled taut simultaneously, and somewhere below his neck is a steady rhythm echoing all the way back up his ears. Viktor wants to fall headfirst into Yuuri’s plushy thighs, but he knows this is not the right time.

“Are you okay,” Yuuri manages to say. “I mean, no, don’t answer that, actually. It’s a stupid question. I just – what’s wrong?”

Viktor wants to hold Yuuri – Yuuri with a hand over his heart, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, worrying his lip. But Yuuri’s hand is fisted in his shirt, shoulders even, warm brown eyes wide with resolution. So Viktor settles for the next best thing. He says:

“I don’t know.”

Yuuri gazes at him, and reaches to stroke his cheek. Viktor leans in. “But there is something wrong, then.”

Viktor shrugs. “Perhaps.”

Yuuri waits. Viktor wonders what else he can say – what else he _should_ say; that it’s been with him for as long as he can remember? That it’s perfectly normal? That he wants it to stop but that will leave him with nothing instead? There seem to be so many instances of this happening, but every memory blurs into the next, spilling carelessly, frothing into a shaky headiness of nothing but dry ice and dramatics. It’s never just a single instance of something, but rather a string of tangential vectors, accidents that sound deliberate without the context of a previous accident, and its predecessor, and so on.

He wants nothing more than for Yuuri to understand, or at least glimpse into the jumble of visuals in his mind; neither Russian nor English, barely coherent or civilised enough to fit into a linear chronological progression. He would like to begin from a single source, a moment where realisation just smacked him right in the face. But as it turns out, the power of hindsight paired with a sickening combination of disgust and what can only be called narcissism has him second-guessing everything in relation to his existence; did they know something was wrong with him, did _he_ know something was wrong with him, does Yuuri know what it is – does it matter what it is? Viktor can’t imagine solving it anyway.

Yuuri’s palm is a comforting warmth pressed against his cheek. And Viktor opts for silence, jaw slackened, lips ajar. He wonders if Yuuri will kiss him senseless now, carefully moved.

Yuuri doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

 

 _Viktor Nikiforov is dead_ , Viktor remembers – a line so pleasing and wilting that it seems to surpass its speaker; Yurio is wincing at pictures of cats on Instagram again, contorting his face in order to hide his squeals. A message notification pops up, and Yurio can’t help his mouth inching into a wide crescent smirk.

Carelessly, Viktor says, “You know I love him.”

Yurio, leaning against the lockers, takes a moment to reply the text. He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, do you?”

Viktor glances down at his stomach. “I know.”

“Are you backing out of the Russian Nationals?” Yurio barks.

Viktor scoffs, “Over my dead body.”

Yurio whacks him on the head in reply. “That’s a yes then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few things:   
> 1) there are a lot of unaccounted things here, i literally have 0 plans, 
> 
> 2) people have commented that this was a realistic depiction of bipolar disorder - and i must disclaim that i am not clinically diagnosed with bipolar disorder, which should actually disqualify me from writing this and yet here i am with a second chapter - ive based a lot of it off my own experience(?) and maybe i should actually delete this idk. 
> 
> 3) also another thing is - that it seems ooc for yuuri to be harsh about people committing suicide? imo it feels pretty natural though - Yuuri is a fighter, and even if he's weak (or so he thinks), suicide never is an option for him, be it out of obligation and culture (you p much owe your parents ur life) or just the sheer amount of trouble you'd be imposing on other people. as in. i think he doesnt want to take death lightly because it could be so possible for him idk
> 
> 4) georgi and yurio know things, i think, but outrightly saying anything is hardly ever the case.


End file.
